


Coming In Unannounced

by michaelandthegodsquad



Series: Irresistible (The Filth Verse) [1]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Altered Mental States, Anal Fingering, Anal Hook, Anal Play, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Car Sex, Collars, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Dry Orgasm, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of non-con, Mirror Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overstimulation, Pre-Negotiated Kink, Pre-negotiated drug use, Pre-negotiated dubious consent, Predicament Bondage, Prostate Orgasms, Semi-Public Sex, Spreader Bars, mentions of spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The lack of agency is. What I'm really looking for. Just. Having it taken from me. The complete loss of control."</p><p>Jack nods, looking fully back at him. "And you're sure you trust me to do it, Rhys?"</p><p>Rhys sits stock still, eyes wide and dark and shining—Jack could do anything to him in that time, not just what he’s asking for, could give or take whatever he wanted and Rhys wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it, but still—"Yes," he says, quietly but clearly. "Yeah, Jack. I trust you."</p><p>OR: In which Jack and Rhys get into some gray moral areas with their kinks, and I abuse my newfound knowledge of prostate orgasms.</p><p>Please, please, PLEASE heed the tags, as content may trigger some readers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming In Unannounced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldmanrenkas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmanrenkas/gifts).



> Once again, before continuing, **please heed the tags.** All kink in this fic is pre-negotiated, as well as safe, sane, and consensual. Both parties are willing participants.
> 
> Takes place a few years before ["Just Follow My Smile"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4570098), but can be read as a standalone. 
> 
> I did quite a bit of reading on prostate orgasms for this fic, and I learned a lot of interesting things; I recommend doing some research of your own if you are interested.
> 
> I asked [Renqa](http://theteenagehorror.com/) what she wanted for her birthday, and she asked for "badwrong porn." Halfway through writing this I realized it wasn't nearly as badwrong as it could have been, but I hope you enjoy it still. Happy (very belated) birthday, Renqa!
> 
> Thank you, as always, to the Sin Squad for your love and support in all of my creative endeavors. Thanks _especially_ to [damnhyperions](http://damnhyperions.tumblr.com/) for the beta work!

The first time they finish a scene, Jack smirks as he rubs lotion onto the reddened cheeks of Rhys’s pert little ass, watches blood begin to prickle to the surface of the skin and says, “So how was that, cupcake? What worked, what didn’t?”

He works his fingers into the muscles there as Rhys hums, eyes still shut and his head pillowed on his arms. “Mmm, no, s’great. S’all great,” he slurs. Jack grins, working his cheeks apart to reveal his wet, loosened hole, thumbing at the rim and watching the muscle contract in some attempt to close. Rhys whines and lifts back up onto his knees, presses back against Jack and hisses out a “ _Please,”_ and, well. Who is Jack to refuse him?

The next day, though, Rhys evidently has more to say; the text comes in when Jack is in the middle of a meeting, some exec’s voice droning on about profit margins in the background. Jack isn’t subtle about checking his comm as he pulls it out of his pocket, thumbing the screen to open the message.

**Rhysie:**

i think next time u could spank me a little harder? or like. a lot harder. idk. i think i can take more. maybe some more name calling. also how do u feel about slappin me in the face?? :0 

 

Jack sucks in a sharp breath, reading over the message twice more before finally tucking his comm back into his pocket, distracted for the rest of the meeting. As soon as it’s over he hightails it back to his office, texting Rhys along the way to tell him to get his ass upstairs for some _urgent business._

It doesn’t take long for Jack to notice that this is a _thing;_ in person, Rhys gives little to no feedback about what they’ve done—what he liked, what he didn’t like, what he wants in the future—but given a few hours and unlimited texting, well. The kid’s got _a lot_ to say, always framed by incongruously innocent-looking emojis and coming at the most inopportune times—in board meetings; out getting lunch; standing in the elevator with several terrified Hyperion employees; in the middle of getting his hands around some poor soul's throat.

**Rhysie:**

remember when we were talkin about punishments. what about gags? like not bein able 2 use my mouth on u. thats a good punishment i think?

**Rhysie:**

dont think i liked the furniture thing tbh :/ we can do the plug again tho? outside? to dinner maybe? 

**Rhysie:**

wanna help me shave later or…?

 

Another day, Rhys just sends him a message with the subject, “how sturdy is ur ceiling exactly” and a link to a gallery of photos of people hanging precariously in intricately tied ropes. (Jack quickly makes a few calls and has the structure of the house checked out; by the end of the week he’s mounting hooks from the ceiling in the basement while Rhys steadies the ladder, looking up at him with wide eyes and his lower lip between his teeth.) 

Sure, a few times Jack _tries_ to discuss this stuff with Rhys in person, always wanting to confirm what Rhys wants and ensure his consent, but he's learned from experience that it never goes very far. Once they set eyes on each other and Jack starts taking him through the scene it's hard to actually discuss anything: "So here's what's gonna happen: we're gonna get these around your wrists and ankles," Jack will say, holding up the under-the-bed restraints, already watching Rhys's eyes glaze over, knowing that he'll agree to almost anything with little to no argument. Jack loves willing partners, don't get him wrong, but if any actual _negotiating_ is going to happen, he's learned that Rhys is at his most lucid and objective through text.

Some things, though...there's too much that could go wrong, could get someone hurt, could get Jack into serious trouble...

The text comes in first thing in the morning, when Jack is only on his third cup of coffee and the last of the straggling Hyperion employees are arriving at work. He smirks, looking forward to answering Rhys and getting him all worked up this early in the day, and sips his coffee while he opens the message. He pauses immediately, mug still poised at his lips; the wording is cleaner and more precise than usual, making him think that maybe Rhys planned what he wanted to say, has been thinking about this for a while. As Jack reads on, it's clear that he's right; excitement already begins to build low in his gut as he imagines it, ready to reply with a resounding _hell yeah, princess,_ but he tamps it down and resolutely doesn't make up his mind yet. He thinks about it all morning, though, finally shooting back a reply around midday to tell Rhys to meet him in ten minutes.

It's a strategic move; the Hub of Heroism is packed at this time and he needs it that way. Normally Jack would take pleasure in the way everyone disperses for him, the way the tables near him all conveniently become vacant when he sits down and settles in to wait, but right now he needs to focus.

Rhys, when he arrives, looks somewhat confused by their location but smiles softly anyway when he sees Jack and slides into the seat across from him, opening his mouth to say something.

"We gotta talk, Rhys," Jack begins right away.

Rhys's mouth still hangs open when his eyes widen at the way Jack doesn't use any pet names. "Oh, okay," he says, sounding surprised and kind of nervous. "What about?"

"About the message you sent me this morning."

Rhys immediately averts his eyes, slouching in his seat and rubbing at the back of his neck with his mechanical arm. "Oh. That. Can't it uh," he chuckles, looking around at the crowded hub. "Can't it wait ‘till later? Maybe? Somewhere more private?"

Jack shakes his head, reaching into his pocket for his comm. "No can do, kiddo. I need you alert and aware for this, and you tend to get a little," he pauses, eyes flicking up at Rhys from where he's scrolling through his messages, "distracted, when you know you're close to getting fucked stupid."

Rhys flushes attractively then, looking away. "Jeez, Jack. Can you—" He cuts himself off, looking back up at Jack nervously. "Look, it was just an idea, okay, we don't have to—can we just—oh my god." He covers his face with his hands.

"Hey, uh uh, no way, you're not getting shy on me now. Look at me." Rhys shakes his head, and Jack sighs. "I'm into it, okay?"

Rhys pauses, parting some of his fingers to look at Jack through them with his ECHO eye. "Yeah?" he asks, sounding hopeful and terrified all at once.

Jack reaches over and drags Rhys's hands away from his face. "But there's some serious business we gotta discuss first. You do realize what you're asking me to do, right, princess? Dubious consent at best; assault and goddamn _kidnapping_ at worst." Rhys stares with wide eyes, shoulders slumping. "I mean, I'll still do it—I still _wanna_ do it—but you gotta be positive that's what you want." He leans back, eyeing Rhys expectantly.

Rhys nods, taking a deep breath, wringing his hands in his lap. "Yeah, I—it's something I've wanted for a while? I didn't just come up with it this morning. I've thought about it...pretty extensively." He breathes out a laugh, looking down.

Jack smirks, reading through the message again on his comm. "I can tell, kiddo." He doesn't need to look up to know Rhys is blushing again. "So you want it exactly like this? Play for play?"

He doesn't look up from the comm, forcing Rhys to answer verbally. "I mean. Give or take. You can handle the particulars. Mostly what I want is the, uh." Jack pauses his scrolling, eyes flicking back to Rhys as he raises his brows. "The lack of agency is. What I'm really looking for. Just. Having it taken from me. The complete loss of control."

Jack nods, looking fully back at him. "And you're sure you trust me to do it, Rhys?"

There’s an implicit question there; not just ‘do you trust me?’ but ‘do you trust me _already,_ ’ the novelty of what they’ve been doing for the last few months still hanging between them. Rhys sits stock still, eyes wide and dark and shining—Jack could do _anything_ to him in that time, not just what he’s asking for, could give or take whatever he wanted and Rhys wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it, but still—"Yes," he says, quietly but clearly. "Yeah, Jack. I trust you."

Later, after Rhys has redressed and gone back to his own office, Jack begins making calls.

* * *

 He knows Rhys has almost forgotten about it when he calls a few weeks later. “Meet me downstairs in ten, we’re getting lunch,” he says briskly, hanging up before Rhys can reply, and checking his pocket for the baggie that had been delivered to him that morning by a terrified intern from Pharmaceuticals.

Rhys seems excited when Jack finds him downstairs, grinning as Jack rests a hand at the small of his back and guides him out of the building and to the car. The drive is short and the restaurant isn’t particularly fancy, but he’s obviously happy to be there all the same. He’s talkative while they look over menus, order, and wait, looking at Jack with soft eyes that would normally have Jack gagging and saying something snarky. Today he lets it slide.

When Rhys gets up halfway through his meal to go to the restroom, Jack is quick, efficient, and inconspicuous about looking around to make sure no one is watching before he pulls the baggie out of his pocket, drags Rhys’s soda closer to him, breaks open the capsules, and pours the powder in. It fizzes and settles at the top a bit; Jack uses the straw to mix it in, and it dissolves quickly. He pushes the glass back to Rhys’s side of the table and pockets the empty baggie again just in time for Rhys to return, a slight thrill already thrumming through Jack’s veins.

Rhys doesn’t suspect a thing, and Jack supposes that’s the point. He almost feels guilty when Rhys reaches across the table to rest his flesh hand on Jack’s, says, “Hey, Jack, uh. Thanks,” and smiles before picking up his fork and digging back into his pasta.

Jack smirks. “No problem, cupcake. You can return the favor later,” he says, wiggling his brows, and Rhys rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his soda but still looking fondly at Jack.

Sure, Jack _almost_ feels guilty, but then he remembers that Rhys _asked_ for this, and his pulse picks up at the thought.

It doesn’t take long for the drug to take effect. By the time he finishes his pasta Rhys is obviously already feeling it, his lids drooping slightly, a soft flush on his cheeks, the smiles he sends Jack a little sleepy-looking, the hand he’d rested on Jack’s moving over his skin in slow strokes. His fingers inch up to touch Jack’s wrist tattoo and he hums quietly as if surprised that it doesn’t have a different texture from the rest of his skin; he moves his hand up further to Jack’s elbow, caressing the fabric of his jacket, mouth dropping open at the sensation.

“Soft,” he whispers, dragging out the vowel. Jack squints at him and looks around again; no one has been sat near them (probably on purpose) and their waitress doesn’t seem to be around. Jack lifts one leg under the table, stretching it out to reach for Rhys, toe knocking against the bench of the booth before he rests the heavy sole of his boot on Rhys’s crotch, pressing down.

Rhys groans, the sound long and low, and his glassy eyes dart to Jack’s face. He licks his lips, the movement slow and sort of sloppy, then subtly drags his hips forward, pushing up into the contact. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t glance around quickly to see if anyone is watching, doesn’t lecture Jack about exhibitionism, just goes along with Jack’s direction eagerly and he’s fucking _perfect_. Jack nearly groans himself as he imagines the possibilities, but instead he looks around for their waitress and signals for the check.

As they make their way out of the restaurant, Jack returns his hand to the small of Rhys’s back. Rhys hums and leans somewhat heavily into Jack’s side, flesh hand returning to caress the fabric of his jacket. Jack notes that he doesn’t seem to have trouble walking on his own, his motor skills a little delayed but no less refined, and files that away for later.

Rhys is docile as he follows Jack back to the car, crawling into the passenger seat a little awkwardly when Jack holds his door for him, making sure it’s locked before shutting it. By the time he gets into the driver’s seat and gets the engine rumbling quietly, Rhys has touched nearly everything in the car, flesh fingers now running over the soft leather of the seat.

“Seatbelt, babe,” Jack says quietly, and Rhys smiles at him, nodding as he buckles in, and Jack begins the drive back to the house.

The ride starts out quiet, but it’s not long before Jack hears Rhys whimpering his name from the passenger seat. When he looks over Rhys is clutching at the strap of the seatbelt over his chest, hips squirming in his seat. The flush on his cheeks has deepened and Jack frowns, reaching a hand over to touch Rhys’s forehead. It’s warm, and a little clammy, but not quite feverish. “You feeling alright there, kiddo?” he asks, hand coming down to his cheek, and Rhys nods, nuzzling into Jack’s palm, lips dragging over his thumb. He grasps Jack’s wrist in his bionic hand and sinks the index and middle fingers into his warm, wet mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he hums around them. Jack sucks in a breath, torn between watching the road and watching Rhys, whose teeth nip at his knuckles while his tongue slips, slow and languid, between Jack’s callused fingertips.

When they stop at a red light he does look over at Rhys, the blissful look on his face as he begins sucking lightly on Jack’s fingers. Jack groans and pulls on them, enjoying the way the suction of Rhys’s mouth tries to lure them back in, thrusting them in and out for a moment. Rhys’s mouth opens on a moan and Jack’s fingers slip out, tugging Rhys’s lower lip down as he admires the way the spit makes them glisten. He drags them down Rhys’s chin and throat, leaving a shiny damp trail down the skin, eyes flicking back up to his wet mouth. There’s a click of the seatbelt unlocking, and Rhys’s eyes are bright when he surges forward, slotting his lips sloppily and eagerly over Jack’s, mouth open too wide and tongue somehow too loose and too bold at the same time.

There are cars honking behind them, and Jack looks up to see a green light, humming into Rhys’s mouth and pulling away quickly to step on the gas. Rhys whimpers, forehead resting on Jack’s shoulder, nuzzling into it and beginning to trail wet, sloppy kisses down Jack’s arm.

Rhys finally rests his head on Jack’s thigh, sighing, and Jack slips a hand into his hair, blunt nails scratching along his scalp. After a moment Jack feels a slight pressure as Rhys presses a kiss to the denim, leaving a damp spot behind, and drags his lips further up, mouthing at the crease of Jack’s thigh and groin and moving further still. Jack’s eyes widen as he feels Rhys’s warm breath ghosting over his zipper, followed by the eager press of his lips against the growing bulge beneath it, his tongue slipping out to drag up the grooves.

“Shit, Rhys,” Jack hisses, hand tightening in Rhys’s hair. Rhys groans against the zipper and Jack has to fight to keep his eyes open. He gets both hands on the steering wheel to turn suddenly down a side street, other drivers honking their horns in his wake, and continues driving until he comes upon a multi-level parking structure, Rhys continuing to mouth at his jeans all the while. Jack gets them up to the top level, where only one or two other cars are parked, and grunts as he reaches under Rhys, leaned over the console, to switch the car into park before shutting the engine off.

“Fuck,” he groans, reaching under the driver’s seat to roll it back as far as it will go. Rhys startles at the movement, jerking away for a moment and glancing up at Jack with wide eyes, his pupils blown and his lips wet where his mouth hangs open still.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you, baby?” Jack teases, tangling his hand in Rhys’s hair once again. Rhys moans, pulling against the pressure. “Couldn’t be patient until I could get you home, huh? You that desperate, Rhysie?” Rhys nods, squirming in his seat, and Jack chuckles.

“I could do anything I wanted to you right now, couldn’t I? And you’d just fucking go with it, no questions asked, none of that smart mouth of yours.” At that he brings his thumb to Rhys’s lips, coaxing his mouth open wider and slipping his thumb in to press down on Rhys’s tongue. “Y’know usually I like a little more engagement, maybe even a little fight every once in a while, but I could get used to this.” He bites his lip at the image of Rhys fighting back, struggling against his hold, but quickly shakes his head and files it all away for later. Another day.

“On your knees,” he says now, and Rhys’s eyes light up as he complies eagerly, shifting down to the floor in front of the passenger’s seat and kneeling, balancing with his hands on Jack’s knee as he awaits further instruction.

Jack pulls his shirts up a bit, exposing some of his stomach and the trail of dark hair that dips down under his waistband. Rhys stares at it for a moment, eyes vacant as he watches Jack’s hands unbuckle his belt. Jack stops there, hands folded over his stomach. “Go on then, kitten. Take it out, play with it.”

Rhys’s hands are eager but sluggish as he reaches up to unbutton and unzip Jack’s pants, the metal one moving with far more precision. The moment he finally wrestles Jack’s cock, thick and wet, from his pants, he’s on it, nuzzling and letting his lips drag along the soft, warm skin, moisture from the head swiping along his cheek just under his eye. The shuddering sigh he breathes out is almost _relieved_ as he licks a long stripe up the side, lips kissing and then closing loosely around the head for the briefest moment before it slips out with an obscene little _pop._ He noses down the thick vein along the underside, pausing and taking a stuttered breath as his lips meet coarse dark hair. Flesh fingers brush it aside to get at Jack’s balls, lips closing around one, humming as his tongue curls around it and rolls gently against the sensitive skin.

Jack exhales a shaky breath, hands brushing Rhys’s hair back both to keep it out of his eyes and touch the back of his hand to Rhys’s forehead, subtly checking again for fever. “Good to know you’re just as eager when you can’t even think,” he says, chuckling, receiving no response from Rhys except for the way he releases Jack’s ball from his mouth and nips gently back up his cock, tongue dragging heavily over the head and collecting pre-come on his tongue. Shining, half-lidded eyes flick up to Jack briefly before Rhys sinks his cock into his mouth entirely, lips once again meeting hair as his throat opens up to let Jack in.

 _“Fuck,”_ Jack hisses, hands pressing Rhys’s head down further, holding him there. Rhys’s throat relaxes around him like a goddamn dream, plush and wet and _hot_ as they both groan. Jack pulls Rhys back up by the hair, listening for the breath he sucks in before dragging him back down again. Rhys’s mouth leaks like a goddamn faucet, drool soaking into Jack’s pants and trailing down to his balls, his mouth warm and pliant like Jack’s never felt before.

“God _damn,_ kiddo,” he grunts, and Rhys mewls around his cock. “You needed this, huh? Needed my dick in your greedy little mouth?” Rhys’s head moves like he’s trying to nod, and Jack laughs, eyes catching on the movement of Rhys’s hips as they rut against nothing. His shirt has come untucked in the back, exposing smooth skin and the beginnings of the swell of his ass.

Jack smirks, left hand remaining in Rhys’s hair while his right inches down his back, dipping under the waistband of his pants to palm his ass. Rhys hums and Jack slips a finger between his cheeks, dragging it down until it catches on his rim. Rhys’s hips jerk at that, groaning with his mouth full. Jack grins and removes his hand to dig in the glove compartment, patting himself on the back for keeping lube there.

He quickly pours some out over the fingers of his right hand and dips them back into Rhys’s pants, slick fingertips finding and circling his hole. Rhys hums around Jack’s cock but doesn’t pause his frantic sucking, at least not until Jack sinks a finger into him. His mouth falls open and Jack’s cock slips out, slapping wetly against his Rhys’s face while he whines, leaving a shining trail of spit and pre-come along his cheek as he shuffles back onto Jack’s finger.

Jack shudders pleasantly at the sight, letting Rhys ride his finger while he pets his face with his cock, making a mess of his cheeks, nose, and lips, tapping the head against Rhys’s skin and reveling in the wet slapping sound it makes. Rhys’s tongue hangs out of his mouth, licking lazily at whatever it can reach. It’s nasty and messy and fucking _perfect._ “C’mon, back to work,” Jack chides after a while, and Rhys complies quickly, flesh hand gripping Jack’s base, his mouth fitting back around him while his metal one supports his weight on Jack’s knee. “Good boy,” Jack says quietly, teasing at Rhys with another finger. “Got such a pretty little hole, Rhysie,” he says casually, beginning to slip his second finger in. Rhys’s muscles are so relaxed he sinks in easily, but it’s still a snug fit and he hums at the way he can almost feel Rhys’s pulse throbbing around his fingers. “Make me wanna fill it up all the goddamn time. Can’t wait to get home and get you all nice and loose and stretched open for me.”

Rhys sucks in a breath, mouth working frantically on Jack’s cock, and Jack grunts, snickering. “Looks like you can’t either, huh, babe? Ooh, the plans I’ve got for this hole. You’ll thank me later if you remember any of this.” He smirks, cutting off as he feels his orgasm building, groaning out. “Yeah, that’s it, pumpkin. Got such a sweet little mouth. You ready for it?”

His fingers press deeper into Rhys, speed picking up as his orgasm begins to wash over him; he sighs out, long and loud, pushing Rhys’s head down as he comes, warm and thick, into the back of his throat. He rides out the sensation, hips rolling upward while Rhys swallows around him. “That’s a good boy,” he says, fingers slowing and thrusting lazily into Rhys’s hole.

When Rhys finally lets Jack’s softening cock slip out of his mouth, he rests his cheek on his thigh, panting and moving his hips back. He looks up at Jack, eyes shining with either adoration or intoxication or some mix of both, and whines. “ _Jack_ ,” he whispers, drawing the name out. Jack withdraws his fingers, wiping them dry on Rhys’s shirt, and Rhys groans sadly.

“You come yet?” Jack asks briskly, to which Rhys shakes his head. “Good. Don’t.” He tilts his head towards the passenger’s side. “Sit back down and buckle up, sweetheart. We’ve got work to do.” Rhys nods, movements still sluggish as he settles back into his seat, fastening his seatbelt and smiling sleepily at Jack.

Jack tucks himself back into his pants and starts the engine, glancing over at Rhys and chuckling at the damp spot at the front of his pants before switching gears and rolling out of the parking structure.

* * *

Rhys comes to some undetermined amount of time later, feeling like he’s just woken from a long, deep sleep, his eyelids droopy and his limbs feeling heavy and still somewhat numb where they hang. He’s on his elbows and knees, torso propped up on _something,_ that much he knows, but not much else; he can’t see anything, and that alone is frightening enough to have him crying out, finding his mouth dry and his tongue thick as he does. Whining, he tries again, whispers out a tentative “Jack?” and finds his voice hoarse.

There’s a pause, followed by an enthusiastic “Ah!” and the sound of booted feet landing softly on the ground. “You’re awake! Jeez, took you long enough, princess, I thought I was gonna get to the season finale before you finally woke the hell up.” Jack’s speech is somewhat muffled, like he’s eating; the next thing Rhys hears is the sucking sound of Jack licking something off his fingers, so maybe that’s not too far off.

“Jack,” Rhys tries again, as the soft footfall of Jack’s boots looms closer. “What’s going on? I can’t see anything.” His voice is still whisper-thin and he cringes at how pitiful he sounds.

“Well no shit, genius, you’re blindfolded.” Jack is standing right next to him now, and judging by the distance, Rhys guesses he’s lying on the floor. Jack grunts very quietly as he crouches next to him. “Quick question,” Jack continues, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

Rhys frowns at that, racking his brain, flitting through memories of sounds and sensations like trying to recall a dream. “Uh,” he says, eloquently, then: “lunch? Maybe? I remember going to lunch with you and…not much else.” Panic begins to set in, his breath quickening. “Jack, what the hell? What’s going on? Why can’t I remember anything? How long has it been? How—”

“Hey, shush, calm down kiddo,” Jack says, his voice in itself not very soothing but the hand he lays in Rhys’s hair a bit more so. Rhys sighs at the soft touch, the feeling somehow magnified, his heart rate slowing but the fear still settled somewhere in his gut when he realizes he still can’t really feel his limbs. When his breathing returns to normal, Jack whistles, low. “Seriously, though, that’s the last thing you remember? Gotta pass that on to Pharmaceuticals later. Shit’s stronger than we thought.”

The panic begins to set in again. “Stronger? What—what did you _give me,_ Jack? What’s going on?”

Jack scoffs. “Seriously, kiddo, you have _got_ to chill. You _asked_ for this, remember?”

Rhys freezes at that. “I…what?” Somewhere in the back of his mind the memory of a conversation in a crowded place quietly comes back to him. “You mean—?”

Jack hums smugly. “Mhmm. You got it now, sugar.” Rhys’s breath quickens again, this time for a different reason entirely, the cold fear in his gut warming and morphing into something else, smooth and hot, curling through him like ink in water. Jack’s hand continues to stroke through his hair as he says, “Now, how about I walk you through the setup? I think you’ll like it.” Rhys doesn’t have to be able to see Jack to know he’s smirking, and he tries to nod but is interrupted by a jolt of pleasure up his spine when his head tips forward; he whines, confused but still aroused as feeling begins to return to his limbs in pinpricks. “Ooh, this is gonna be good,” he hears Jack mumble to himself, and Rhys frowns.

“So,” Jack begins, removing his hand and kneeling near Rhys’s head. “To start. Your hands are cuffed together, obviously.” He hooks a finger into the cuffs, tugging briefly. “Leather, which means you could probably break it with the robo arm if you pulled hard enough, but I don’t think you will, will you, sweetheart?” Rhys shakes his head, swallowing, and flexing his hands against the cuffs, feeling the firm leather on his flesh wrist and hearing the way it squeaks against his metal one.

“Good boy. Now, you’ve also got this collar,” he says, and hooks his finger between the collar and Rhys’s neck, tugging lightly. “It’s got two rings, one in front and one in back, each with a wire attached. Why don’t you tilt your head back a little more for me?” Rhys does, immediately mewling at the sudden sharp tug on his nipples, the way the feeling shoots straight down like an electric current to his cock, already filling. “Perfect,” Jack purrs. “Got some clamps down there, should be fun.” Rhys scowls at that, and Jack chuckles.

“The main event, though,” he goes on, “happens when you tilt your head forward.” Rhys hesitates for a moment, but ultimately complies, slowly relaxing his neck; gradually the pleasure up his spine returns, increasing the further forward he moves his head. The moan he lets out builds up in his chest and tumbles unbidden from his lips, and Jack hums, pleased.

Rhys brings his head back up, panting. “What _is_ that?”

“That, pumpkin, is an anal hook. Specially designed by yours truly. The wire in the back pulls on it every time you try to give your neck a rest. Brilliant, isn’t it?” He grins, then, stroking a hand down Rhys’s back, fingers curling around his ass and pulling one cheek aside. Rhys groans, hips bucking forward; he tries to spread his knees further but finds them locked in place, and huffs.

“So what’s the spreader bar for?” he asks, trying to be snarky but mostly just sounding breathless.

He can almost hear the way Jack lights up. “Oh, that? That’s just to give me a nice clear view.” He winks, admiring his handiwork. “This is gonna be great. The setup’s pretty basic as far as this sorta thing goes, but it is only our first rodeo.”

Rhys huffs, the clamps tugging at his nipples as tilts his head up again. “You did all this while I was asleep?”

Jack laughs darkly then. “Oh no, cupcake. You didn’t fall asleep until a little while ago. Nah, you were awake for most of it. Followed me out of the restaurant, into the car, back here. Even undressed yourself and got into position for me. So nice and cooperative. Handsy, too.” A beat, then, “You really don’t remember _anything?_ That’s a shame. It was a nice change of pace.”

Rhys whines, head dropping, then groans out again as the ball end of the hook presses against his prostate with the movement. “Feel good, kitten?” Rhys, not thinking straight, nods, mewling again when the ball presses deeper. “I’m sure it does,” Jack continues. “There’s one more surprise, though. I’m gonna take this off now, alright?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing the blindfold up and off Rhys’s face, and Rhys is immediately met with the sight of…himself. Jack has propped a mirror up in front of him, letting him see himself in his predicament, and he wants to be embarrassed by the way he looks, panting and sweating and desperate, but instead his eyes dart around the room and he frowns.

“I know we usually save the hardcore stuff for the basement,” Jack says casually, like he doesn’t have Rhys tied up in predicament bondage in the middle of the living room. “But we’re gonna be here for a while, and I’d rather sit somewhere comfortable while I watch you.” Rhys swallows at that, squeezing his eyes shut as he sees himself flush in the mirror, and Jack runs a hand through his hair again. “You like being watched, don’t you, kitten? Like knowing anyone could pop in for a visit right now and see you like this, huh? So pretty, so desperate, so helpless for me.”

And Rhys knows at least part of that is a lie, because _no one_ just “pops in” for a visit with Handsome fucking Jack, but. Still. The possibility is there and he whines at the thought, shame mixing with arousal curling in his gut. He doesn’t even have to imagine what he must look like; the moment he opens his eyes he _sees_ himself in the mirror, on his elbows and knees with a towel beneath him on the carpet, collar around his neck, skin glistening with sweat and flushed red everywhere, hair disheveled where Jack combs through it. There’s a stool beneath him supporting his weight, but beyond it he can even see the way his cock hangs heavy and drooling between his spread thighs. Rhys shuts his eyes again and lets his head fall forward, not even caring about the way the hook pushes into him again, hips bucking at the pressure.

“See, I was gonna put a cock ring on you, but I think this’ll be much better,” Jack continues conversationally, reaching over to pull the stool out from under Rhys, letting him support his own weight. “The good news is, you can come as many times as you want!” He pauses for a moment, then says quietly, “That’s a gift, cupcake. Say thank you.”

Rhys swallows. “Th-thank you, sir.”

“Good boy. The bad news, of course, is that you may not be able to _stop._ At least, not until I’m done with you, which won’t be until…” Jack pauses again, pulling out his comm to look at the time, the device beeping as he sets an alarm. “…exactly two hours from now.” Rhys whines at the thought, biting his lip to muffle the sound.

“Oh no, sweetness,” Jack says, gripping Rhys’s chin in his hand, forcing his head back to look up at him. The movement pulls on the front cable and the clamps attached, tugging on Rhys’s nipples almost painfully as he gasps. “If I wanted you to be quiet I would’ve gagged you. Don’t hold back, c’mon, let me hear you.” His other hand reaches back and pulls on the other cable, sliding the hook forward to press even harder into Rhys’s prostate, Rhys’s resulting groan loud and unfettered.

“Good boy,” Jack coos, releasing the hook. “Only an hour and fifty-eight minutes left.” Rhys breathes out a shaky sigh. He can do this. “Now,” Jack continues, “there’s another more pragmatic reason for not gagging you.” His expression is serious as he looks down at Rhys. “You said you wanted to do this with limited check-ins. That still true?”

Rhys almost nods but then thinks better of it. “Yes,” he says quietly.

“That means if at any point it’s too much, or you need to stop, _anything,_ you need to be the one to tell me. Use your word and all that. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. You good for now? Color?”

“Green.”

“Good,” Jack says, grinning once again. “Now since I’m a nice guy, I’m gonna help you along the first time. After that you’re on your own.”

Rhys doesn’t have time to ask before Jack is reaching for his cock, dry hand becoming slick with pre-come as he quickly works Rhys, whose head tips back as he gasps, the sharp tug of the clamps at his nipples shooting something warm and electric straight down to his dick.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day here,” Jack insists, but there’s a smug lilt to his voice.

Rhys tries to crack his eyes open and shoot him a glare in the mirror but mostly just ends up gasping again as Jack tightens his grip, stuttering out a “f- _fuck_ ” and tumbling over the edge. His hips jerk forward as he spills, warm and wet, onto the towel beneath him; Jack continues working his hand slowly, wringing him dry until Rhys whines and shifts away from the touch.

Jack chuckles, wiping his hand on the towel. “That was one. I’m keeping count, pumpkin.” He glances down at his comm again. “You want me to keep you updated on the time?”

Rhys shakes his head, still recovering, and Jack stands, stretching out his back as he returns to his spot on the couch. He picks up his tablet and pops his headphones in to resume watching his show while Rhys’s arms and legs shake with the effort of trying to hold him up despite feeling like jelly.

For just a moment Rhys thinks this really won’t be _too bad._ He can do this, he thinks, turning his head left and right to stretch out the muscles in his neck. Then, as if he’d somehow already forgotten, he relaxes his neck, letting his head droop down between his shoulders as he revels in the warm aftermath of his orgasm. The hook shifts and presses in deep, the ball leaning steadily on Rhys’s prostate; he gasps as his hips jerk away from the stimulation, and he begins to think maybe this won’t be so easy after all.

He picks his head back up to relieve the pressure from the hook, only to feel the sharp tug of the clamps, finding that this sensation actually isn’t much better. His nipples have always been sensitive, touching them a surefire way to get him hard, and normally it’s thrilling but now, so soon after coming, the way his dick jerks at the feeling just _hurts._ Tears gather in his eyes as he lets out a high-pitched whine; distantly he hears Jack chuckle, muttering something like “Fucking _perfect_ ” under his breath as he relaxes further into the couch.

Eventually Rhys manages to find a position that, while still pulling on both cables somewhat, isn’t as intense on either one. He sighs at the relief, flexing his fingers and toes, opening his eyes to find that his position puts him at the perfect angle to watch himself in the mirror. He flushes, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look.

“Hey,” Jack says a few minutes later, something soft hitting Rhys in the back repeatedly. He cracks an eye open to watch in the mirror as Jack throws another cheese puff at him, and Rhys huffs, rolling his eyes. “Uh uh, princess," Jack chides, “Look at yourself. Keep those eyes open or I’ll come over there and tighten the wires.” Rhys swallows, blinking, and complies.

His cheeks flush again at first when he looks at himself, his disheveled and debauched state, but after a few minutes he finds it’s easier if he focuses on the predicament and not how he looks in it. Tilting his torso downward and his neck to one side, he’s able to glimpse the hook where it enters him and pulls slightly at his rim. It’s almost surreal, now, knowing that there’s a hook in him after seeing them in so many videos, always wondering what it would feel like but still just a little too afraid to try. Sweat beads at his forehead and he swallows around the lump in his throat, the collar snug around his neck and tightening slightly with the movement. Rhys’s eyes flick to his legs and he vacantly thinks that some thigh-high stockings might’ve completed the look. He shrugs, considering it, and notes that he’ll have to tell Jack about it later. Or, uh. Text Jack about it later.

Rhys blushes as he recalls the message he’d sent Jack, asking for this. He remembers sitting at his desk, typing it out, flesh thumb tapping out the letters while his bionic hand pressed down on the front of his slacks, keeping the arousal at bay long enough to describe exactly what he wanted.

Sometimes he wishes he _could_ talk to Jack about these things in person, would love to see the look in Jack’s eyes as Rhys details his fantasies, but. Every time he tries to articulate them out loud, shame always curls too hot within him to get the words out. Sure, the shame can be just as hot as the act itself, but if Rhys is being honest with himself, no amount of articles about “kink positivity” can quite dispel the feeling that there’s something wrong with him for wanting the things he does, for being so _desperate_ for them.

He sighs, trying not to think about it. The last few months with Jack have been…good for him, in that respect. The way Jack doesn’t seem to question what Rhys wants aside from negotiating, and doesn’t guilt him for wanting it (any more than Rhys asks, that is). Jack always knows just how to toe the line between the humiliation that has Rhys gasping in arousal, and the shame that keeps him from telling anyone what he really needs. He tries not to get sappy about how that makes him feel about Jack, but, well. If he does, sometimes, no one has to know.

A warm feeling blooms in Rhys’s chest at the thought and he sighs, relaxing. His head begins falling forward as he thinks about it; the hook presses into him again slowly and he whines, tries to look up again but finds his muscles straining with the effort, neck already tiring from holding up the weight, nipples approaching the uncomfortable end of sore. Taking a deep breath, Rhys resigns himself to the feeling and lets his head droop forward. The pressure is mostly pleasant when he can anticipate it; he wiggles his hips a bit to stimulate some movement instead of constant teasing pressure, but finds it difficult to move very much with the spreader bar.

Still, the persistent weight of it is pleasant, if a bit overwhelming; on instinct he tries to push back into it, huffing when the hook only moves with him instead of giving him what he needs. He dips his head forward again, craning his neck downward in an effort to pull it in deeper. His head hangs between his shoulders, sighing as he glances down at his dick; a string of pre-come stretches from the slit down to the towel and he groans, simultaneous humiliation and arousal coiling tight and hot in his belly.

Rhys glances back up at the mirror and is immediately met with Jack’s gaze where he observes from his spot on the couch. He’s taken off his mask, eyes heated as they watch Rhys’s hole, before they flick up to meet Rhys’s in the mirror as he smirks. With that Rhys finds himself coming again, but it’s…different, this time, like it’s radiating from the inside out, more intense and rolling out in waves from his prostate all the way to his fingers and toes and it’s so goddamn _good._ He doesn’t even really _come,_ technically, just a small dribble of fluid spurting weakly out of his dick and trickling lazily onto the towel. He clenches his fists and breathes deeply until it passes, body occasionally racked with bouts of trembling.

Even the aftermath is different—he waits for the feeling to dissipate, to ebb out of his limbs as quickly as it had arrived, but it never does. It feels less like a drop and more like a steadily receding tide, still glowing somewhere at his core, and Rhys settles into the feeling, his mind fading into a warm haze of sensation. He barely even tries to keep his head up anymore, letting it hang forward and pull the hook in, vaguely surprised at the way it feels pleasant, still, and not painful with overstimulation.

He’s not sure how much time passes with him sighing and smiling softly to himself at the comfortable fog that settles over his thoughts; when his third orgasm hits him it’s both sudden and somehow not. The low level glow never quite receded after the last one, but this time it rises and peaks so quickly that Rhys is gasping with it, back arching as his body jerks and he groans out long and low, distantly noting that he’s _still hard, how?_

He doesn’t stop to question it, just chases the feeling as it settles back into a soft glow, aching for that peak again. It doesn’t take long for Rhys to figure out that he’ll need to switch things up, that what he needs isn’t steady pressure, but quick, sudden, repetitive bursts of it. He flushes when he realizes that that only way to get that is to just—bob his head, pull the hook deeper in pulses in some attempt to get what he needs.

He glances up at the mirror at Jack, who seems to be looking at something on his tablet again, so Rhys takes advantage of his momentary distraction and starts to nod, repeatedly, to get the hook to press into him in a staccato rhythm like tapping fingers. It’s good—better than good, Rhys realizes, as he begins to feel the pinprick of tears gathering in his eyes, gasping quietly but steadily as the prickling heat begins to build up again. Distantly the sound of a deep breath distracts him, and he looks back up at the mirror to find that Jack is definitely watching him now, tablet abandoned as he casually palms at himself through his jeans. Rhys whimpers at the sight, dropping his head again to continue his movements.

Jack lets out a low laugh then, standing and moving slowly back towards Rhys. “You really need it that bad, sugar?” he asks, kneeling between Rhys and the mirror, the hand slowly working himself through his pants only a few inches from Rhys’s face.

Rhys looks up at Jack, eyes wet and wide. “Yeah,” he says on an outgoing breath. “Please.” His eyes flick down to Jack’s hand, moving slowly but deliberately over his jeans, and Rhys licks his lips, hips moving absently against nothing. “Please,” he says again, voice a hoarse whisper.

Jack sighs, hands moving to unbuckle his belt, the sound seemingly amplified in the otherwise quiet room. “That’s three now, isn’t it? Still not enough for you, babe? Still need more?” he asks, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Rhys doesn’t answer except to swallow, rapt as he watches Jack push his jeans down to mid-thigh, his cock bobbing with the motion and nearly bumping Rhys’s nose.

Jack laughs, one big, strong hand brushing hair away from Rhys’s forehead, petting him as his fingers tangle in his hair, the other beginning to work himself slowly. Rhys watches his hand work, rings glinting in low light as long fingers wrap around his cock, pushing his foreskin up before pulling back down to reveal the head, thick and red and already wet. Pre-come trickles out steadily, gathering at the slit and beginning to dribble down the side of his cock; Rhys nudges forward, mouth open and tongue ready to lick it off, but Jack's grip tightens in his hair, pulling him away.

“Nope,” he says, lips popping around the word. “Not again, pumpkin.” Rhys’s brows furrow in confusion at ‘ _again,_ ’ but Jack doesn’t seem to notice, tilting Rhys’s head up to make eye contact. “Now I’m gonna let go, and you’re gonna stay put and keep those eyes on me, alright?” Rhys nods and Jack smirks, hand releasing his hair and reaching back to grip the wire attached to the hook.

The first tug is gentle but sudden, and Rhys groans under his breath at the way it presses in, hips pushing back against it. His eyes flutter shut as he sighs, and Jack clicks his tongue like one would at a misbehaving dog. “C’mon now, Rhysie, I said eyes on me. Don’t make me say it again.” It’s with no small effort that Rhys blinks them open, catching Jack grinning. “Good boy,” he says, wrenching the hook forward again.

Rhys’s moan is loud and unabashed, his eyes watering where he struggles to keep them trained on Jack, fighting against the instinct to squeeze them shut when he blinks. “There ya go,” Jack says encouragingly over the wet sounds of his hand on his cock. “Gotta say, desperate’s a good look on you, kitten.”

Somehow Rhys still has the presence of mind to whimper out a “Thank you” that trails off into a whine when Jack releases the hook again, only to tug on it repeatedly in quick succession. Rhys’s legs shake and struggle to hold him up in the wave of pleasure that washes over him, and Jack laughs, hand working over himself faster.

It continues this way, Jack tugging and maneuvering the hook at different angles, strengths and speeds, bringing Rhys _so close_ to the edge but never giving him the extra push he needs to come. He delights in the way Rhys struggles to keep his eyes open, occasionally grunting as he traces Rhys’s lips with the sticky wet head of his cock before pulling away. Rhys whines at the loss, licking the slick away from his mouth, and Jack groans roughly.

Rhys isn’t sure how much time passes this way before he finally sobs, “ _Please, Jack_ ,” voice wrecked and moisture in his eyes threatening to spill over. Jack laughs quietly to himself but indulges him, finally maneuvering the hook to tap in quick pulses against his prostate.

Rhys swears his vision whites out for a moment with the intensity of his orgasm, entire body jerking and seizing up as he cries out and comes dry, losing focus entirely. When he comes to again his cheeks are wet with tears and Jack’s hand is working frantically over his own cock. Jack groans when Rhys looks up at him again, pushing his thumb past Rhys’s lips and coaxing his jaw down. Rhys opens wide and lets his tongue loll lazily over his lower lip, vaguely aware of the drool dribbling out of the corner of his mouth as Jack moves closer, the head of his cock bumping occasionally against Rhys’s upper lip.

“ _Fuck,”_ Jack groans, hand stilling for a moment as his come spills onto Rhys’s waiting tongue, some trickling down to his chin. Rhys breathes out a content sigh at the warm, bitter taste, feeling smug as he watches the way Jack furrows his brows and bites his lip. When he’s finally done, Rhys closes his mouth to swallow and Jack sighs, letting go of his softening cock in favor of swiping his thumb over Rhys’s chin, wiping up the come there before feeding it back to him. Rhys closes his lips around his thumb, tongue moving lazily against it; Jack grips his hair and forces his head back to kiss him hard, biting his lips and swallowing the gasp Rhys lets out at the sharp tug of the clamps.

Finally leaning back and taking a deep breath, Jack digs his comm out of his pocket, grinning. “Still got some time,” he says casually. “How about we up the ante?” Rhys hums sleepily in reply, eyelids drooping, not really registering anything Jack says. Distantly he hears Jack huff and lean over; there’s some slight movement on the hook, and then Rhys is wide awake again, eyes snapping open and a moan already tumbling from his lips.

“Wha—what did you _do?_ ” he asks, voice embarrassingly high pitched as his hips buck.

Jack, the asshole, just laughs. “Told you, I designed it myself. Managed to get some vibration on this baby,” he says, grinning. “If this works out we could mass produce ‘em, roll ‘em out by next spring. You’re my guinea pig, princess, so you gotta give me some feedback. How’s it feel?”

He leans over again, pulls the hook in deeper and Rhys shrieks as the vibrations press harder against his prostate, but he swears he can feel them everywhere, in his fingers, his toes, climbing up to his fucking _throat._ Jack hums, says, “I’ll take that as a ‘10/10, would recommend?’”

Rhys grits his teeth, fists clenching, and only manages to stutter out, “F-fuck you, Jack,” with probably not nearly as much malice as he intends. Jack chuckles.

“Oh, we’re getting there, sweet cheeks, but you’ve still got a ways to go.” With that he stands, stretching out his legs, swatting Rhys on the ass as he returns to the couch.

With the vibrations it doesn’t take very long for Rhys to come again—it’s smaller, this time, but not much less intense. By then it almost doesn’t matter which way he tilts his head—the vibration seems to just reverberate _everywhere_ within him, like he can feel it in every inch of himself and there’s no escaping it.

The orgasms come easily after that, some only minutes apart, and he keeps trying to move his hips forward to touch his dick to _anything_ at this point, can feel the way it hangs heavy beneath him, sobs a little when there’s nothing there. But they continue, rolling into him like waves, the time between peaks becoming more and more indistinguishable until there’s almost no difference at all, until Rhys is completely submerged, drowning in sensation and unable to come up for air or escape it if he wanted to. He hangs his head, pressing the hook in, and lets it wreck him, rocking back and forth into nothing. It becomes too much, and Rhys goes on for an undetermined amount of time just letting it all wash over him, doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Jack is there again, hands covering the tears on Rhys’s face, repeating his name softly until Rhys finally looks up at him.

“Welcome back,” Jack says quietly, grinning at the dazed look on Rhys’s face. Distantly Rhys realizes the vibrations in the hook have been turned off, and he hums. “That last 40 minutes really wrecked you, huh? Feeling good, kitten?” Rhys nods, dopey smile on his face, groaning softly under his breath at the pull of the hook and the clamps again.

“That’s real good, Rhysie.” Jack unbuckles the leather cuffs around Rhys’s wrists and unhooks the wires from the collar but leaves everything otherwise in place. He pats Rhys’s cheek and then moves away, settling behind Rhys and running his hands down his waist, over his hips and down to his ass, pulling his cheeks apart and whistling.

“Wish you could get a load of the view back here, cupcake. Fucking beautiful.” He touches his thumb to Rhys’s hole, now warm, loose, and sensitive, still wet with lube. Jack pauses to uncap the bottle and pour more lube onto his fingers, slicking them before he continues to touch Rhys’s hole; it tries to clench and close at the contact but mostly just flutters lazily, and Jack hums. “I bet I could fit right in here next to it,” he says conversationally, fingertips just beginning to press in. “Think you could take it?” He slides his fingers in next to the hook and Rhys gasps, not sure whether he wants to shake his head or not. Jack chuckles, slipping the hook out, Rhys whining at the empty feeling. “Maybe another time. I think we’re both feeling a little impatient now.” He replaces the hook with his fingers and Rhys groans at the blunt pressure, moving his hips back into it.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Jack says, then pauses; distantly Rhys notes that now would be where Jack checked in if Rhys hadn’t asked him not to. Announcing what he’s doing is the closest he’ll get to giving Rhys the chance to say no, but Rhys just groans and pushes back, feels the rough denim of Jack’s jeans against his ass, whispers _“Please,”_ his speech breathy and sluggish.

Jack doesn’t waste any more time after that, quickly ( _finally_ ) undressing, rolling on the condom he’s been keeping in his pocket this whole time, pressing his cock into Rhys slowly and with a hiss. Despite Rhys having had the hook in him for the last two hours, Jack fills him in an entirely different, equally (if not more) satisfying way, thick and blunt and warm in a way that has Rhys sobbing pathetically. It helps, of course, knowing that Jack is the one pushing into him, the one gripping Rhys’s hips as he slides in; Jack is the one whispering Rhys’s name like a prayer under his breath, and the one pausing to let Rhys adjust before setting a brutal pace.

And that makes all the difference, really, even if Rhys isn’t quite ready to admit it out loud.

Jack leans down, pressing his chest to Rhys’s back to mouth at his neck, lips and teeth dragging over the skin. His hands slide up Rhys's waist, one gripping his shoulder to pull him back into Jack’s thrusts while the other curls loosely around his throat, fingers hooking into the collar to turn his head enough that Jack can press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his face. Jack’s hips never stop, sweat-slicked skin slapping loudly into Rhys’s, moving fast and hard like he’s just as desperate as Rhys is; he’s even blessedly quiet, forgoing running his mouth in favor of panting breathy groans into Rhys’s ear.

Rhys whines out his name, eyes tearing again with the need to come, and Jack growls, somehow pounding his cock into Rhys even harder. “Go on, Rhysie, touch yourself for me,” he says, voice hoarse, and Rhys doesn’t hesitate to obey, nearly crying with how good it is, _finally._ His entire body jerks at the contact, would curl in on itself if Jack wasn’t holding him up, and he lets out a wet sob, feeling fresh warm tears on his cheeks. He pushes back against Jack erratically, so close, _so goddamn close,_ and barely even hears Jack hiss and say “ _Shit,_ Rhys, fucking _perfect,”_ with the way he apparently clenches around his cock.

Rhys loses himself in the sensations, Jack warm in him and all around him, surrounding his senses completely, and cries out when he finally comes, spilling violently onto the towel once again. His arms give way beneath him and he blacks out for a moment, barely noticing the way Jack ruts into him senselessly before stilling, coming inside Rhys with a loud, raspy groan.

Rhys hasn’t stopped crying by the time he comes to again, Jack having pulled out and now unlocking the spreader bar, finally letting Rhys’s exhausted thighs come together again, muscles burning and aching and shaking with the movement. He gets his arms around Rhys’s waist, hauling him up against him, his chest to Rhys’s back again as he kisses and noses and nips at the nape of Rhys’s neck and whispers praises into his skin.

Rhys’s limbs feel so heavy with exhaustion, tingling with painful pinpricks as feeling returns to them. After a while Jack stands, getting Rhys back on his feet. Rhys cries out with the way his legs immediately begin to cramp up, leaning against Jack as he tries to collapse onto the floor again, but Jack holds him up.

“Uh uh, Rhysie. Gotta get you walking again. You’ll thank me for it later.” If Rhys wasn’t so exhausted he’d glare at Jack, but as it is he only leans heavily against him and breathes through the pain in his legs. Jack stands behind him, a solid weight, running a reassuring hand up and down Rhys’s waist. “You did good, Rhysie, so good. M’real proud of you.” Rhys would preen at the praise if he could think straight, but as it is he just lets it wash over him pleasantly.

After a while Jack reaches for the bottle of water on the table beside the couch, uncapping it with his teeth before he presses the mouth to Rhys’s lips. “C’mon, drink up, kiddo,” he mumbles, and Rhys reaches one shaking hand up to grasp the bottle. He downs half of it quickly before letting Jack take it and presumably put it back on the table.

“You good?” Jack asks after a moment, and Rhys nods tiredly. “I’m gonna walk you to the shower now, okay?” Rhys opens his mouth to object but Jack quickly shushes him. “C’mon, princess, shower then bed, alright? But you gotta walk there. I’ll hold on the whole time.”

Rhys sighs but relents, standing shakily beside Jack, who gets a firm arm around his waist, and gripping his arm, leaning his weight on Jack and letting him guide them wherever they need to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on [Tumblr](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/) and find out how you can get me to write stuff for you.
> 
> Additionally, check out Renqa's [art blog](http://theteenagehorror.com/).


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